


Peter's Eternal Night

by MundaneJaq



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27756760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneJaq/pseuds/MundaneJaq
Summary: After the fall of Atlas, Peter throws his lot in with Salem, and tries to adjust to his new life.[Please note, this is heavily canon-divergant, and features different versions of canon characters to those that appear in canon]
Kudos: 1





	1. The Night The Sky Fell

** Peter’s Eternal Night **

_ TW: Mentions of death and suicide _

__

Remembering The Night The Sky Fell

Most people remembered where they were when Beacon fell.

But **everyone** remembers where they were when Atlas fell.

Some saw it on the news, many watched in horror from livestreams, and countless perished when the floating city plummeted into Mantle.

The innumerable screams were cut infinitely short as the shockwave sent thousands flying.

It was the day Peter finally threw his lot in with Salem.

There had always been a glimmer of hope in his heart that maybe, just maybe, everything would turn out okay. Maybe the immortal queen of darkness would be beaten in this final stand.

But he was a roboticist, not a fantasist. He knew it was unlikely, and the day the news came in that not only had Atlas fallen, but Argent had too, he gave up the dream.

Ironic that he no doubt saved an unknowable number of lives over the battle, but could not save himself.

“Why do you look so glum?”

Salem’s hand lifts Peter’s chin so that his eyes meet hers.

“The son was… close to me.”

Peter didn’t like using their names anymore. It felt easier to dehumanise his former teammates if he forgot their names. Easier to remove himself from the attachment.

Easier to… forgive himself.

The Son, The Bird, and The Labrador. The only things tying him to his former life. Even Oz had breathed her last, and even though Peter knew she wouldn’t stay dead, it was hard to keep the hope in the dark days that followed.

“It was integral that he be removed. You understand, I assume?”

The Wicked Witch’s honeyed words are velvet to Peter’s ears, and, not for the first time, he inwardly noted how easily one could be swayed fully to her side from words alone.

“I do. It will-” his voice cracks, and he clears his throat to continue speaking. “- take some getting used to. But I understand the necessity of his demise.”

The steel behind the tinkerer’s eyes does little to hide his emotion from The Watcher, the only other person privy to this conversation. Mercifully, the scorpion stays quiet.

“Good.” Salem’s hand glides up Peter’s chin, the index resting there for a fraction of a second before she turns and seemingly glides away to gaze out the window. “I would hate to have to dispose of you so soon.”

The gadgeteer gulps, acknowledging the satisfied grin from Tyrian in the corner.

“You may go. Tyrian, come here. I have a new job for you.”

And that was it. As simply as he was summoned, Peter bows, stepping backwards, before turning heel and striding confidently towards the door.

“Oh, and Sacral?”

Peter’s magpie wings twitch in surprise, and he looks over his shoulder, a questioning look in his eye.

“Mercury’s legs need a look over, be a good boy and fix them, won’t you.”

“Of course, ma’am.”

And with a nod, the heavy wooden door swings closed behind him.

“The prodigal son returns. How was your meeting with the high and mighty?”

Mercury Black. His pale skin complimenting his silvery grey hair, the light glinting off his exposed metal legs, and his trademark smirk decorating his face, Mercury is sat on a metal crate, the soft grinding of metal-on-metal as he shifts his legs sending rattles through Peter’s teeth. The only time he seemed to smile was when he was teasing someone else or causing them pain. But just as Peter had shifted at the Fall, so had Mercury, as well as-

“A question we’d both like to know.”

Emerald Sustrai. Hair that matched her name, and dark skin, Emerald was a thief, a liar, and surprisingly commonly a wisecracker. “How come you keep getting such personal meetings with her? More importantly, how do you keep coming out alive with your mouth?”

“A silver tongue is good for more than quicktalk, Emerald.”

The girl made a ‘blegh’ motion at the suggestion that Peter literally uses his tongue in his “private” meetings with Salem. Naturally, they are unaware that Callows is present for every one. Although, Peter was yet to figure out if that is because Salem distrusts him, or trusts the Watcher.

“Hey, Pete, mind getting me back on my feet?”

Peter knew Mercury could service his own legs. But the upgrades he’d supplied required a more personal touch.

“Sure. Em, if you’re gonna throw up, please don’t do it in my workshop.”

Shaking her head disapprovingly, Emerald leaves the room, muttering something about leaving “the nerds” to “nerd it up.”

“How’re they treating you?”

Peter starts pulling tools from the walls and floor, seemingly at random, “any issues?”

“Nope.” Mercury kicks his legs casually, and they both wince as they creak like old hinges. “Maybe a bit of oil.”

Sliding a wrench into his toolbelt, Peter scoops the oilcan from a nearby table, and starts applying it to the joints.

“How’re the improved guns?”

“Perfect, Pete, like always.” Mercury sounded almost bored by the questions, but that was likely only because Peter had asked it a thousand times before. “Are you seriously not going to tell us why you keep getting the honour of personal meetings with our queen?”

The sarcasm was dripping from Mercury’s voice, and Peter chuckles as he moves onto the second knee.

“More than my life’s worth to fill you in on meetings Salem purposely keeps from you. Which isn’t saying a whole lot, all things considered.”

He shrugs, standing up and slapping his subject on the back.

“Aight, Merc’. Give it a try.”

Mercury stands up, and Peter smiles at the perfect silence of his handiwork. The amputee then does some knee-ups, before kicking some gunshots at the straw dummy in the corner. The artificial, dull grey aura of the dummy shivers, and Mercury grins.

“Good as new, as usual.”

“That’ll be my usual fee.”

“One cup of quad-strength coffee coming up.”

That was one upside to distancing himself from his old team; there was no-one to stop him from drinking his preferred strengths of coffee, something Argent and Robyn loved doing.

Or… Used to.

“Hey, you okay?”

Peter hadn’t even noticed that Mercury had made his way to the door.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just… Reminiscing.”

Mercury’s smirk drops slightly, revealing a softer side. One he might just kill himself if Emerald found out he had.

“You know you can talk to me.”

“I know. Cheers, man.”

And then he is alone.

Sighing contently, Peter finally relaxes. Even this far from anything that could even generously be called civilisation, scrap metals, wires, lights, and other robotic debris always made Peter feel, even if just a little bit, like he was home.

The roboticist spins his chair around, reclining the back so that he can lie down. Closing his eyes, Peter allows himself a soft smile.

Maybe everything _will_ be okay, after all.

“Peter!”

No! He knew that voice! But Argent was dead!

Peter’s eyes flash open, and he quickly takes in his surroundings. A glade. A clearing surrounded by trees. By buildings. By impossibly tall bushes.

“Peter!”

He turns, and stops in shock as the view of his silver-haired teammate grasped in the jaws of an Ursa. Gripped in the claw of a Beowolf. Speared on the tusk of a Boarbatusk.

He was covered in blood, his hair matted to the side of his face, his eyes wide in pain, his cane dropped uselessly to the floor as he is lifted off the ground and thrown against a tree.

“ARGENT!”

Peter’s wings extend to their full length, the chromatic blue plumage fwooshing in the wind as he propels himself at the Grimm, dusting it with a single swing from his staff. He continues flying, landing at Argent’s side as he cups his teammate’s head in his hands.

“You’re not dying on me, you bastard.”

Peter speaks as if the mere conviction in his words will save his friend.

“Hey, looks like you took a hit.”

Argent raises a hand weakly as a flickering light appears in his palm.

“Save your strength, you idiot!”

The medic smiles sadly.

“Hey, blame yourself, okay?”

Peter blinks in confusion as Argent presses his hand to Peter’s temple, and a pain he hadn’t realised was there begins to fade.

“This is your fault. You coulda prevented this.”

“No- Argent, no, I didn’t know it would come to this!”

Tears splash onto Argent’s cheeks as his eyes glaze over, a sad smile on his face.

Peter wakes up curled in the foetal position, surrounded by scrap metal, on the floor of his workshop.


	2. Irony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team RAA are on their way to Vacuo, believing they'll find their missing teammate there.  
> Tradgedy strikes when they are waylaid.

TW: Graphic violence, mentions of blood and death

“Arge, save your Aura.”

Argent laughs as he channels his semblance to close Robyn’s wounds, having already healed Antoine to the best of his ability.

“Not a chance, Robyn. I’m the medic here, and it would kinda be against everything my qualification means if I let you kill yourself be walking on a broken leg. Ever hear of the Hippocratic Oath?”

Robyn grumbles quietly, flexing her metal arm as her cuts knit together, the blood drying onto her skin.

“There you go,” Argent smiles, hoping that neither of his remaining team-mates notice just how low he’d allowed his Aura to drop.

What’s left of Team RSAA gather their backpacks and stow their weapons, keeping an eye out the window of their “borrowed” airship for any airborne Grimm headed for The Crater. First the petrified Wyvern atop Beacon, and now The Crater that used to be Mantle… The world seemed to be developing more and more Grimm hotspots.

“So, he’s not in Atlas, and Mum says he’s not gone back to Beacon-”

“-He must already be on his way to Shade Academy. Why wouldn’t he wait for us?”

“He’s never exactly been the most rational, Ant.”

Robyn scolds their missing teammate, shaking her head.

“True. Indéniablement brillant, mais incroyablement stupide.”

“I got brilliant?”

“You’re learning?”

“Mostly just by being around you.”

Argent watches his teammates banter and smiles sadly, before slipping into the unmanned cockpit, and sitting himself down in the pilot’s chair.

The autopilot seemed to be functioning well enough, so he pulls The Longest Memory off his back and stares solemnly at it.

“What were you trying to tell me, Mother?”

_I’ll be back soon. Don’t lose this, I’d quite like it back. Remember to keep training your ability._

Ability? Singular? But which one? Argent would be the first to admit he had a wide range of abilities, from his Aura detection, to his magic, to his semblance, all of which he’d been honing religiously, but which single ability had his mother been trying to warn him he’d need?

He stares into the cogs of the cane, as if his domineering gaze would will the clockwork into spinning and revealing the answer behind his dilemma. The etchings in the handle seemed to taunt him, winding and crisscrossing each other, as if throwing into Argent’s face just how impossible the task ahead seemed.

Wait-

WHAM

Argent is knocked out of his seat, smashing his head against the console, feeling his skin split and the warmth of blood begin to trickle down his forehead.

“Antoine!”

Robyn’s voice shrieks from the cargo hold as the shuttle rocks violently.

“Argent, help!”

Antoine’s unmistakable accent joins the trill as Argent stumbles into the back to see Robyn clutched in the claws of a Griffon, which screeches as Argent enters, making his already throbbing headache all the worse.

“Robyn!?”

Argent summons up his willpower and throws a weak ball of magic towards the attacking Grimm, dislodging it just enough for Antoine to wrench Robyn free, before pincushioning it with his hurriedly recovered rapier.

Argent activates his cane and swings his now halberd at the winged demon, sending it careening from the large hole where the cargo door used to be.

“Is everyone okay?” Argent hears his own voice as if coming from the end of a very long tunnel.

“Clearly not!”

Was Robyn’s voice always so echoey?

Wait…

How did he get on the floor? Was he always here?

Robyn is hurriedly wrapping bandaging around Argent’s head, tying it as tightly as she thinks she can get away with, and is about to stand up, when the ship lurches sideways, nearly sending her tumbling out of the hole.

“What the-”

With an earsplitting grinding noise, the roof of the ship is torn from the walls, and the stomach-dropping sight of the Griffon bearing down on them greets the team.

Antoine’s long blue coat flaps in the wind as he steps forward, raising his rapier, and sending a blast of fire towards the bird, which explodes against its torso, the shockwave forcing all three humans back to the floor, as the ship lurches again, suddenly careening towards the ground.

“BAIL!”

Antoine hurriedly sketches a large piece of cloth to act as a comically proportioned parachute, and all three jump from the crashing ship, Robyn transforming into her bird form to fly down to safety, and Argent casually rolling from his prone position out of the door.

He tumbles into freefall, letting his mind flow back to his first day in Beacon.

_No, you will be falling._

_No, you will be using your own landing strategy._

_Mother had always had a thing about landing strategies. Argent has even been allowed to jump from the top of the stairs to the very bottom, encouraged even, provided he had a good “landing strategy”._

He analyses his LZ; a barren wasteland ending in a sheer cliff on one end, and a brown-leafed forest on the other three. Very little to slow his descent, and even less to break his fall. If he was being honest with himself, chances of survival were dwindling into single digits unless he used the last of his Aura. But living with Peter’s constant explosions taught him that no matter how unsurvivable something looked, there was always a way to survive it.

He positions himself horizontally, spread eagle, trying to maximise his surface area, and mentally calculates time to impact

6…

5…

4…

3…

Argent’s wings bamph out a second before he hits the ground, sharply altering his trajectory and sending him skittering along the ground at a harsh angle.

But at least he was alive. The black cracks in his silver aura seem to pulsate as his vision swims, slowly reconvening into a single point of focus.

He watches hazily as the cracks seem to overtake the silver and his Aura blinks out, having been completely used up.

Antoine lands surprisingly smoothly, his own Aura shattering as his ersatz parachute vanishes. With a soft poof, the small robin standing between them transforms into the similarly small Robyn, who rolls her robotic shoulder ruefully.

“Everyone okay?”

The question had barely come to Argent’s mind when it came out of Antoine’s mouth, and Robyn turns to him, a rueful smile on her face.

“Attacked while out of Aura, freefalling out of a -”

All three wince as a large explosion in the distance signals that their ride was unrecoverable. “- crashing airship, and now completely lost? Never been better!”

She sways on her feet slightly.

“Arge?”

Antoine’s face looms into Argent’s view as he looks up, his head pounding like a thousand hammers.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’ll be-”

A crack.

His head whips up, scanning the horizon. Nothing. But then-?

“Uhm, guys?” Robyn points to the edge of the cliff.

Climbing over the ridge are a number of Beringels, their ape-like grip pulling them ferally up the side.

“We cannot catch a godsdamned break!” Argent sighs.

Robyn extends her metal arm blade, and Antoine levels his rapier towards the oncoming hoard.

Argent raises his cane in his right hand, wielding Longest Memory in his left. It almost felt like Oz was there fighting alongside them.

With a synchronised scream of defiance, a unified “fuck you” to the Brother of Darkness, daring him to do his worst, Team RAA enthusiastically waded into the violence.

It was going well.

Until it wasn’t

Robyn slashes the Grimm primate, twice, three times, ending it with a stab through the back, and just as it dusts, her eyes widen.

_There’s a searing pain in her left arm._

_It- it’s gone!_

_It’s lying on the floor, blood spilling endlessly from the stump that once housed it, as well as the sizeable gash down the entirety of the left side of her body._

_The beowolf leers down at her ready to strike the killing blow._

“Robyn!”

_It raises its elongated, disproportionate arm, its claws glinting in the evening sun._

“Robyn! Snap out of it!”

_She can’t move. She can’t fight. She stands there as useless as the arm she commanded not thirty seconds before._

Whoosh!

The beowolf’s claws come raking down, and there’s a spray of crimson.

Robyn blinks as she is ripped violently back into reality.

Argent Goodwitch, her friend, teammate, and voice of reason, had jumped in front of the attack. Spurned on by rage, Robyn yells and, not even bothering with the blade, whales on the lupine faunus, smashing its bone-masked face in with her bare hands.

Breathing heavily, Robyn’s wide, crazed eyes scan the battlefield for any other threats.

A panting, bloodstained Antoine grins at her from across the way, having dusted the last of the Grimm.

His grin quickly fades as he takes in the bloody form of Goodwitch.

“Argent!”

Argent turns, grinning at them, though it was clear to both of them that he was fighting tears of pain.

“Argent you idiot!”

Robyn scolds her friend, starting towards him

“You could’ve been killed!”

Suddenly, Argent chuckles.

“Hey, Robyn-”

And he reveals his left arm. Or rather, what was left of it.

“Snap.” He’s giggling openly now, the adrenaline pumping through his veins to replace the panic with hysteria.

Robyn’s brain spirals her into a flashback, the phantom pain wracking her own left arm as if it had been lost that day. Argent’s arm was clawed almost beyond recognition, deep gouges going widthways across it, his hand and fingers limp and unmoving. The flesh and muscle connecting his wrist to the rest of his arm was stripped almost completely away, and even as Antoine watched, the colour was draining from the boy’s face.

“We need to get that stopped.”

Robyn’s wide eyes refocus as the familiar voice pulls her into the present. “Y-Yeah, I-”

And the two teammates set about bandaging the wound with whatever they had. Robyn is pulling tissue and bits of cloth from the many pockets of her shorts, and Antoine is ripping the hem of his coat, wincing with every tear.

All the while, the silver haired huntsman between them sits on a large rock, holding his dysfunctional arm in his lap, laughing as he examines his own wound.

“I thought I was gonna die! But nope! That would be merciful. I wonder if I’d reincarnate. That’d be cool! Would I be a girl? Hey! Robyn! Would I be hot if I was a girl?”

Robyn looks up from her work, staring deep into Argent’s wild unfocused eyes and noting his distracted smile. His usual reserved composure wiped away, replaced instead by the sheer hysteria and unfilteredness that only a near death experience could induce. Robyn should know, she’s had a few.

“You would be gorgeous.”

This seems to satisfy the medic, who lolls his head backwards, to stare at the stars.

The treeline bends around the hooded figure as it observes the children tending to their friend.

Their biggest weakness on full display for any observer. Compassion would not slow him down.

The whole area seems to darken as The Watcher steps backwards, falling into the void.


	3. First Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know how the old saying goes. There's a first time for everything.

Tyrian had never let her down before.

She had given a single instruction.

A simple instruction.

See to it that Argent Goodwitch sees his last sunrise, without revealing his extraplanar abilities.

And, if his report were to be believed (and he had never lied to her before), while Callows had indeed mortally wounded the Goodwitch child and seemingly broken his morale, his continued existence would, Salem was sure, prove to be a continued thorn in her side.

“They continue to search for their missing engineer?”

“Yes, mistress. They seem to seek his recapture.”

The Grimm Queen looks thoughtfully towards the grand doors of the throne room.

“Mortals,” she muses, almost to herself. “Always so desperate to sacrifice every piece on the board for the sake of a single pawn.”

A glaze of mirth slides along her lips, although her eyes did not seem to get the memo.

“A desperation I shall be sure to exploit.”

A soft cackle calls her from her reminiscence. Immediately spotting his mistake, her loyal scorpion stands to intense attention.

“Keep watch over this team, Callows. Ensure to impede their… quest,” she lets the word fall from her lips like a mother humouring a small child’s fantasy. “As much as you can. But if you are seen, or found out in any way…”

Her face steels, a silent threat, backed up quickly by her words.

“You will serve me no use. Go now.”

And with a respectful bow, The Watcher smiles as the shadows creep up his body, clinging to his skin like tar, before dragging him through the wall, and he is gone.

Peter sighs, sending a dagger spinning into the paper dartboard on the wall of his workshop.

Bullseye.

He looks down at the chessboard, purple eyes skimming the pieces, before moving his knight from F3 to G5 in order to take Emerald’s Queen.

The illusionist sighs as she looks over the board. It had been a fairly close game until one or two turns ago, when it had started to swing into Peter’s favour. She extends a hand to make her move.

If there was a sun visible in Evernight, it would have set by now, and Peter was alone again, nursing a cup of coffee strong enough to wake up a horse on ketamine.

Taking a sip, he blinks and turns to the work in progress on the table in front of him.

Penny had regrettably been destroyed when Atlas collapsed, and so Peter had been tasked with using what blueprints had survived in rebuilding the android.

And this time, they would not have to fight to keep control of it.

With the push of a button, the eyes of the disembodied head open, a soft light flickering behind them.

“Sal! U! Tat- Salu- Sal-”

Peter switches her off again, sighing, before taking another sip of coffee, and re-examining the wiring. A-ha! There we go, the red cable was loose. Pushing a line of solder into the casing, Peter re-attaches the wire, and closes the hatch, before flicking the robot back on.

“Salutations! Sacral Android Active! Please assign designation!”

Peter shudders as he rides a wave of emotion from hearing his old friend’s voice coming out of this machine, and chokes back a tear.

“Pen-”

No. That would be disrespectful to her memory.

“Sally.”

“Designation! Sally!”

There’s an awkward pause.

“Oh! I don’t appear to have a body!”

The head blinks innocently as Peter leans over her and switches her off again, satisfied that the Artificial Intelligence is accurate.

A low buzzing fills his head as George, his Geist Grimm pet unpossesses his goggles and floats in front of his eyes, before Salem’s voice fills his head.

Upside to bonding with a grimm, Salem could communicate with him at any time.

Downside to bonding with a grimm? Well, a thing can be two things.

“Come to the Throne Room. Immediately.”

The connection cuts abruptly, and George floats back to Peter’s shoulder, his smokey body hugging Peter’s arm like a kitten might a mother.

Sliding his escrima sticks into their holsters on his back, Peter locks the door to his workshop and starts the brisk walk towards the throne room, making sure to look directly into the Seers he passes in the halls. Something of a hubris issue, but he saw it as a personal challenge to initiate a staring contest with anything that didn’t have eyes. George hasn’t lost yet, but Pete is confident that it’s only a matter of time.

He was the last to arrive. Mercury and Hazel were already waiting outside the closed doors, looking impatient.

Upon catching sight of the latecomer, Hazel rolls his eyes, scoffing. Mercury was a bit more hospitable.

“Pete! I knew it was you. Way to keep us all waiting!”

Peter takes the coffee Argent was holding out to him, and takes a sip gratefully.

“Sorry, bud. You know how I find it hard to put things down.”

“Ah, no worries. We’ve all been there.”

The medic grins, and Peter shakes his head, banishing the flashback from his mind.

“Any idea why we’re here?”

Peter opens his mouth to answer, but is cut off by the musclebound dust absorber stood to the side.

“What does it matter? Salem has summoned us, and we shall complete the task given.”

The two teens roll their eyes, but quickly wipe the sass from their faces as the doors begin to swing open.

“Once more unto the breach,” comments Hazel ominously.

Salem surveys her board as her rook stomps into her throne room, flanked by the two pawns.

“Right on time.”

They line up at the wall, the children passing looks between each other, trying to silently guess what they have been summoned for.

Salem stalks forward, reaching first Hazel.

“Hazel…”

She runs a hand over his exposed muscles, a satisfied twinkle in her eye.

“I am pleased to see you have not allowed your body to atrophy.”

She does not allow her face to express her satisfaction at the fact that Hazel visibly straightens, pride glowing out of his face.

She creeps forward, her hand gliding through Mercury’s hair, her second one rubbing her chin as if pondering a difficult decision.

“Mercury. Ever invaluable, I trust you will continue to prove yourself… an asset.”

Mercury’s reaction seemed to be the polar opposite of Hazel’s. He slumps slightly lower, and rolls his eyes, pushing his luck with a cheeky smirk.

Salem considers, before returning his confidence with a maternal smile, and a soft “indeed…”

Finally, Salem subtly readjusts her gown and posture as she approaches the tinkerer. Almost half a head shorter than Mercury and almost a foot shorter than Hazel, he was the most unassuming of the three she had summoned, but he had tipped his hand on their first meeting. Far more than either of the other two did. Hazel’s loyalty had been bought the day his sister died, and Mercury was here simply because he had nowhere else to be. But Peter Sacral? Born of Mistral, apprentice to Dalus Daeda, and child prodigy?

He was here because no-one else believed in him. Salem knew exactly how to keep his loyalty. She simply had to throw a compliment his way once in a while. Or rather…the promise of a shadow of a compliment.

And, if she could stir some discourse amongst her pawns while she was at it, well…

What point is there in ruling if you can’t have some fun while doing it?

She makes sure to stand closer to the tinkerer than she had the other two, to the point where, had her heart still beat, he would have felt the heat from her flesh. She raised a hand slowly and cupped the young man’s chin, forcing direct eye contact.

“Peter…”

She allows a small smirk to cross her lips as his face reddens, and his Adam’s apple bobs in a gulp.

“Yes, well…”

And she lets the contact drop, quickly moving away.

She turns towards her throne, her back to the three pieces, and casts a side glance at the Seer before her, satisfied to see that the other two were looking angrily at Peter. Good.

Adopting a veneer of command, she turns, and allows a sincere smile to reach her face at the rapid way in which the three underlings before her almost fall over themselves to return to attention.

“You three are going on a little field trip each.”

She snaps her fingers harshly, and their scrolls each buzz in their pockets.

Taking his out and examining it, Peter saw that he was destined for Vacuo.

“You are to, for lack of a better term, recruit.”

Salem sits down on her throne, crossing her legs regally.

“Turn more to our cause. Reveal to them the error of their ways in trusting a blind wizard with the fate of their dying world. I take no qualms with you dealing with any aggressive action in kind.”

She gives them a pointed look, ensuring they understood the message.

“I trust none of you take issue with your assignments?”

There was a general murmur of confirmation, and Salem waves her hand, dismissing them.

The door shuts with a heavy bang, and Salem’s eyes wander back to the Seer, who seems to shake slightly.

“Oh, don’t be like that.”

Salem smiles softly.

“Things have gotten a little cosy around here. Nothing like a bit of healthy competition to weed out the weak amongst the sheep.”

The Seer shudders again, and the connection is broken.

Salem reclines in her throne, breathing a sigh.

White Queen is moving in on Black King, Ozma. Your move.


	4. Sidequest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Team RAA find a shortcut to Vacuo. But can they do what needs to be done to gain access to it?

TW: Mild sexual harrassment.

Although nothing actually happens, it is suggested that it is wanted.

Argent was unconscious again.

He had been slipping in and out of consciousness since they’d started walking. Robyn and Antoine weren’t convinced that they’d succeeded in completely stopping the bleeding, but they were confident they’d done the best they could. All the same, the sooner they reached civilisation, the sooner they could put him down. Even carrying him between them, the weight was starting to become unbearable. Especially considering that they had to actively avoid tripping over tree roots and rabbit holes. Curse the God of Creation for creating forests.

“There!”

Antoine, whose turn it was walking forwards, nodded his head slightly to Robyn’s left, knowing better than to remove his hand from Argent’s shoulder to point.

“Town?”

The trees stopped abruptly maybe a hundred metres ahead, and another five into the clearing stood a wall, behind which, presumably, stood a settlement.

“Looks to be.”

And with renewed determination, the two marched.

They were barely to the gate when a voice cried out “LOOK OUT!”

Robyn and Antoine barely had time to duck, careful not to drop Argent, when they felt their hair ruffled by something missing them by a sliver. Although there was nothing imbedded in the wood of the gate, it bore a deep gash, as if slashed at by a large sword.

“Lookee what we have here.”

A large, well-built man stood opposite them, his hand raised as if hailing a taxi. A deep scar marred his otherwise… Actually, he was quite ugly, and would be even if he wasn’t scarred and leering at our heroes as if they were pieces of meat.

“Uhm, boss? These guys look like huntsmen. Maybe we-”

The weedier, darker skinned woman to the man’s right eyed Antoine and Robyn will a keen, calculating look. Clearly, she was the brains of this operation.

“Ah, shut it, Vi. They’re buggered. Look at ‘em.”

“Fuck off, Matte, we’ve paid this week!”

The woman stood in the tower connected to the gate shouted down to the group. There were five on the ground. Eight, including Team RAA.

“Aye, but it ain’t you I’m interested in, love. It’s this beautiful specimen here.”

He takes a step forward, looking towards Robyn, who fights the urge to recoil in disgust. Antoine raises an eyebrow her way, surprised that this guy wasn’t already swinging from the nearest tree by his tongue.

“You’re sweet,” she replies, without a hint of irony, “but I’m afraid I just don’t swing your way.”

“Aww, don’t be that way sugar.”

Antoine was starting to feel a heat rise behind his ears.

“I could wear a dress if that got you goi-”

There was a blinding flash of light, and the three stumbled back, just as both Antoine and Robyn had made the simultaneous decision to brain this guy.

“I’d be careful if I were you. That’s my team leader you’re talking about.”

Rubbing the spots out his eyes, Antoine squints up, and sees Argent, a pair of celestial wings sprouting from his back, a radiant glow emanating from them that gave him a vaguely angelic silhouette. He’s effortlessly holding the burly Matte into the air in one hand, his hair floating slightly as if underwater.

“And I happen to be quite fond of her.”

And as if he were flicking gum rather than a man twice his size, Argent tosses Matte aside, watching him soar through the air and groan as he passes out, his aura flickering before going dead.

The rest of the fight was over before it began. ‘Vi’ scuttled forward to scoop up her leader, and the small crowd scatters, fleeing.

Argent turns to face his teammates, his eyes burning pure white with Heaven’s fury, and it was at this point Antoine notices Arge is floating maybe an inch off the ground. Goodwitch slowly descends, and once his feet meet solid ground, his wings dissipate, and his eyes return to their natural silver.

“Hey, guys.”

He smiles as if he’d just finished a tasty desert.

“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Team RAA were sat around a small table with the portly mayor of the town, who had introduced himself as Hershall. They had just finished filling a very confused Argent in on what had happened.

“Honestly, guys, the last thing I remember is seeing a beowolf about to gouge Robyn-”

He shoots a look over at Hershall.

“- _from behind_ , and now I’m here. I-”

Antoine puts a hand on his shoulder, still struggling to believe how perfectly his teammate’s arm had regenerated.

“Whether or not you remember it,” the mayor cut in brusquely, “it happened. And they’ll be back.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Antoine noted the honeyed, over the top manour Robyn put on, and appreciated her acting skills.

“But we _really really_ need to get to Vacuo.”

“Going somewhere, are you?” Hershall’s bushy moustache bristled in a way that reminded the team of Port when you got a trick question right. “Well, my boy happens to be very good at getting people places. SAM! SAM! SALMON FISCHER! GET IN HERE, BOY!”

A boy shoulders the door open, clutching his head in his hands. Wearing an oversized black T-shirt imprinted with an ursa skull, grey skinny jeans, and black, mud-caked combat boots. This, along with the long fringe of black hair flopping over his face, meant that if someone had asked Antoine to draw an edgy teen, he would have drawn Salmon Fischer.

“Dad, you don’t need to shout when you use your semblance! Gods!”

“You can get these kind folks to Vacuo can’t you?”

“What??” Sam looks taken aback. “I mean… possibly? But-”

“See!” Hershall grips Sam by the shoulders and pulls him close, his vicelike grip bunching the boy’s T-shirt in his meaty fist.

“You go wipe out those vile vermin, my boy Salmon here will send you to Vacuo.”

He nodded as if it was decided. “You will be housed in our inn tonight, free of charge, and then you’ll set out first thing tomorrow.”

And with that, he marched to the door and left, dragging poor Salmon behind him.

“I… I guess-”

“COME ALONG!”

Hershall’s voice thunders into their heads like someone shot a gun into their ear. Stumbling from the shock and pain, Team RAA follow in the mayor’s footsteps.

They awoke sore. Turns out that “free of charge” also meant “free of comfort.” But, it was useable enough, and it was still the most rested any of them had felt in a long time. In fact, it was only the possibility of finding Peter that got them out of bed and kitted up.

Barely an hour later, they were geared up and ready to delve into the bandit den. With a cheery “Good luck!” from Hershall, they ventured forwards.

Den really wasn’t the right word. The bandits were gathered in a clearing in the woods, with a large firepit in the middle, logs scattered about for sitting, and a loose ring of tends around the perimeter.

“Shouldn’t we have come at night?”

They had to admit Antoine had a point; they didn’t exactly have the cover of darkness with the morning sun behind them.

Robyn shushed him, and moved forward, jumping to grab one of the bandits around the neck and over the mouth, dragging him down and silently choking him unconscious.

“In the name of my mother, Robyn!” Argent bent down to check the man’s pulse. Fortunately, he still had one.

“I didn’t kill him”

Argent grumbles quietly as they move into the camp. Fortunately for them, all of the remaining bandits were asleep.

“OI!”

All of them except that guy, apparently.

In the moment it took them to react, he had raised a horn to his lips, and blown, causing a low trembling tone to resonate throughout the camp, rousing the others to wakefulness.

Argent’s eyes flick to the side to see Antoine and Robyn preparing for battle, and is just about to pull his halberd out, when his limbs stop obeying him.

Try as he might, he cannot move, an immense pain becoming more and more prominent as his muscles squeeze themselves inwards.

His vision swims as his lungs freeze up and his breath is stolen by whatever power was keeping them in place. He searched within himself for whatever power he had apparently summoned the day before. Whatever internal fire gifted him the strength to fight the Gods, but wherever it was hiding, he couldn’t reach it.

Everything was going dark… this was it… Had he really come so far, just to be choked to death by some B-Tier semblance?

Wham.

He didn’t remember falling. Just the jolting pain in his knees as they hit the floor, his lungs screaming as they fill with life-saving breath, his cheeks dampening as tears escape his eyes.

“What was that you said?”

He looks up at the scratchy voice above him, and sees that every single face in the camp was fixed on Robyn.

He heard light scuffling as Antoine got to his feet, only to be knocked back down to his knees.

“Branwen.”

The boys’ attention snaps to their leader, surprised to hear her confess her heritage to these brigands, when it was usually not something she admitted to.

“My name is Robyn Branwen. Daughter of Raven Branwen. And I invoke the right of Demand by Dominance!”

Demand by what?

A rumble of discontent went through their captors, so clearly they knew what she was talking about.

“So, yer Raven’s brat. Yeeeeah…”

The muscled leader, Matte, barges his way to the front, crouching down to look Robyn in the eye, taking apparent satisfaction in the discomfort in Robyn’s face as he pinches her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“Yeah, I shoulda seen the family resemblance from the beginning.”

He gargles, and Robyn flinches, but he spits to the side, a low, dangerous, chuckle crawling forth from the back of his throat.

“Okay, Little Branwen. What’s your Demand?”

Robyn grimaces, clearly unhappy with the nickname.

“You leave us, and the town, alone. You fuck off back to whatever hole in the ground spat you out, and I never see your face again.”

Matte straightens up, laughing.

“Very well. Mine is that tax to that hovel doubles, and you stick around the camp. We could always use some…”

His gaze slides over the boys.

“Entertainment…”

And with a sickening smile, he returns his eyes to Robyn.

“And you would make an excellent…Personal aide.”

Snickers rise from the crowd, and Robyn gets to her feet, a Branwen’s defiance burning in her Rose eyes.

“Terms accepted, you sick bastard.”

“Marvelous!” And he punches her in the face.

Everyone scrambled to clear space for the fighters. Argent and Antoine wanted to help too, but were once again incapacitated by Violet, and dragged to the side, unable to do anything but sit and watch. Mercifully, their lungs were not paralysed this time.

Robyn recovers from the blow, sliding across the ground, before jumping up and launching a counter-attack. With a rage-filled scream, she winds back her metallic left arm and swings it at Matte.

The bandit effortlessly dodges the blow, and strikes her in the stomach with an open palm, sending her flying backwards. It took Argent a moment to realise that this was his semblance; any force he put into a strike, he could amplify with nary a thought. How barbaric. It seemed Robyn had put two and two together as well, as she stands up, her aura flickering. Taking a deep breath, she charges at the brute again, who laughs, and plants himself.

She’s sprinting, but right as she’s about to collide with Matte, she jumps, and in a blink of an eye, she vanishes, reappearing a split second later behind him, spinning in midair to land a solid roundhouse kick to his head, hitting the ground in a three-point landing as her opponent goes sprawling, his misty aura flashing angrily as he struggles back to his feet.

“A dirty trick, you b-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as Robyn utilises her semblance again to teleport right in front of him, lamping him with her metal arm, before following up with a series of quick jabs and hooks. A smile finds its way onto Argent’s face as he watches the ringleader’s aura take a beating, flashing and flickering, before THUD.

Matte had grabbed Robyn’s metal fist in his own and held it up.

“Atlesian. Pah.”

And before Robyn can even finish the calculation of whether or not she could afford another teleport, he wrenches her forward, so she's close enough to smell his putrid breath. "Tag." And he connects an uppercut into her gut, channeling his semblance to send Robyn flying into the air, crashing into the ground with a dull thump.

She doesn’t get up, although her aura still shone.

“Robyn!”

Her teammate’s cries were drowned out by the cheers of the bandits, as Matte stalks forwards, bending down to pick Robyn up by the collar. Her limp form offers no resistance as he raises her off the ground, her eyes closed.

“Shame. I really thought you’d put up more of a challenge.”  
“Psst, Arge, why are you smiling?”

“Watch.”

As Matte raises Robyn above his head like a trophy, she opens his eyes and winks at the boys.

A unified yell of warning goes up from the crowd, but Matte misinterprets this as celebration, lifting Robyn even higher. Perfect.

With a snap movement, the little Branwen wraps her thighs around his neck, locking her ankles together, and squeezes. It takes a moment for him to realise what happened, but as soon as he tried to pull her off, she tightens her grip and throws her weight to the side, pulling Matte off balance and to the floor, his face going blue.

His aura doesn’t shatter as much as it seems to seep away from him like goo, slowly dissipating as he runs out of breath, desperately fighting to free his windpipe from the tiny terror’s grip.

After sixty agonising seconds, he smacks the floor with his hand, and Robyn stands up, releases him.

He wheezes breaths into his lungs, his face slowly regaining blood.

“Fine! Fine! You win! Bit-”

His head hits the floor as Robyn kicks him in it, knocking him out cold.

“All bark, and no bite.”

She looks up to address the assembled bandits.

“Release my teammates and leave! And if I ever see you again,”

She leans down to pick up Matte, but seems to think better of it, and instead rips the coinpouch from his belt.

“I’ll take far more than your money!”

“You- you actually managed it?”

Hershall seemed more shocked than relieved.

“W-well, I am impressed! S-”

He clears his throat.

“Sam, could you come downstairs a moment? That girl and her teammates are back.”

Sam enters the meeting room, this time wearing a black button-down shirt, although his jeans and boots remain the same. His hair is also swept behind his ear.

“Y-You came back! I- I knew you would.” He shrugs dismissively, and Hershall chuckles darkly.

“Now it’s our turn to uphold our part of the bargain, son.”

Sam’s eyes widen.

“Right! Yes, of course. Everyone hold hands, please.”

Robyn, Argent, and Antoine all join hands, and Sam taps them all gently on the head, having to stand on tippy-toes to reach Argent and Antoine.

After his hand brushes the top of their head, it feels like there was a light pressure pushing down on their shoulders.

“Right. I need you to focus on where you want to end up. If you’re unsure, or don’t think of the same place-”

He shudders.

“Bad things can happen. I suggest the entrance of Shade Academy.”

The three teammates look at one another and nod, each conjuring an image in their mind of the school.

“Right, and uhm-”

He hands Argent a slip of paper.

“That’s, uh, my scroll code. Call me when you land so I know I didn’t send you into a volcano or something.”

“Sure thing.”

Argent slips the paper into his pocket, staring daggers at Robyn, who was snorting.

“Now, concentrate!” Sam steps back. “I’ve never sent anyone this far before, so I need silence!”

The requested noise level falls upon the room, and he closes his eyes.

A bright blue light shines from behind his eyelids, and Team’s RAA’s vision takes on a blue overlay, as their surroundings begin to fade.

Antoine feels his stomach rise into his throat as the pressure on his shoulders increases painfully, feeling as if his arms were about to be pulled off.

Sam raises his arms and brings his hands together, before pushing them forwards towards Antoine, Robyn, and Argent.

The last thing they see before their vision goes completely blue is Sam’s eyes opening, a block blue glow shining from them, before the boy collapses.

The pressure lifts as their feet hit solid ground, their stomachs returning to their correct positions.

“I’m not telling you to give up! I’m telling you to move! Get out of her way! She’ll destroy the academy, but she doesn’t needlessly spill any blood!”

The three looked at each other.

They knew that voice.

But Peter would never-

They started running.


End file.
